The Middle of Crossfire
by something someone said
Summary: The good news, Germany and Italy have just moved into a new apartment together. The bad news, they live under America and England and the floor is very thin. Germany/Italy, America/England, Prussia/Austria if you turn your head sideways


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

A/N: So I used the rather popular idea of nations living in the same building to thinly veil a parody of pairing popularity. Oh gosh, that rhymed… I think… sorry…anyway enjoy!

_The good news, Germany and Italy have just moved into a new apartment together. The bad news, they live under America and England._

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_**The Middle of Crossfire **

When the cliché 'love thy neighbor as thyself' came into popular use, nations probably weren't meant to be included. If they had maybe then people would have considered their words. If they had lived next to France they would have said 'Love thy neighbor, except when he shows up at your door wearing nothing but a rose' or if they had lived next to Switzerland, 'Love thy neighbor, except when he shoots at you for no apparent reason.' Obviously these people had never been neighbors with any of these nations. And _very_ obviously, if they had lived underneath America and England they wouldn't have used the phrase altogether.

At least that's what Germany would like to think. Sure, the area was nice enough when he was searching for a place to live with Italy. Within walking distance to the World Conference Center and surrounded by every kind of restaurant and marketplace imaginable, with a multitude of clothing stores, tech shops and bookstores. The apartment complex had sounded perfect.

It took only week for him to realize that the place was very from far perfect and very near to hell on earth. He lay awake in bed at night and listened to the telltale footsteps that signaled the end of days: England had just arrived home.

"How come I have to come home to a mess everyday? What do you do, sit on the couch and watch TV all day?"

"If you want it clean why don't you just do it yourself?"

"Why should I? You were here all day."

"Why me? You know I hate cleaning. Jeez, sometimes I wish Arizona hadn't -"

"It wouldn't hurt you to try it yourself for a change!"

"It wouldn't hurt you to try cooking a little better for a change!"

"_Ooh,_ so you had to bring my cooking into it. You want to know what I _really_ think of your disgusting hamburgers?"

"How dare you insult my hamburgers! I'll have you know that your fish and chips are false advertising! Where the hell are the damn chips? I demand compensation!"

"I'll give you some damn compensation!"

Something crashed upstairs and Germany wondered if it was his sanity. This fight marked the 42nd quarrel between America and England, the 15th thing broken in the heat of violence and the 9th time America had brought England's cooking into the conversation…this week.

It didn't bother him so much that the two argued about the most irrelevant things or that England was a raging alcoholic and America clearly had some sort of death wish. He didn't even mind cleaning up the dust that came from his ceiling whenever the two stomped about. What really disturbed him was that America and England were loud when it came to...

"You're so cute when you're angry."

"Get off of me, you git!"

"What if I don't _want_ to?"

"Ah! Not so rough. I think you dislocated my shoulder back there, you damned brute."

"Sorry 'bout that and ah, I hope you don't mind a little blood on you, you might have torn one of my arteries. Oh, what the hell! It'll make things easier."

Yes, that was what really disturbed Germany when he was lying in bed at night, Italy having woken up from the noise and now shaking at his side.

"Ve, do you think we should call an ambulance?"

Germany, wide-eyed, turned to his partner as animalistic noise came from the floor above. "For them or me?"

Of course, Germany and Italy had tried making peace with the two immediately after they discovered the epic feuding. Germany cooked a special cake as a present for the struggling nations in a rare moment of sympathy for the higher powers. They were even invited to have dinner with the two because of the gesture and Germany was offered the first glimpse of the infamous apartment.

"Welcome to my flat… umm… you two." England opened the door, clearly intoxicated. Germany and Italy weren't surprised by the Brit's manner, for just half an hour ago they had heard from the floor above them "You invited that cabbage eating lowlife and his idiot sex toy to dinner! What the hell Alfred!"

"But he made us cake!"

"I don't care about the goddamned friggn' cake! And this place is still a mess! I hope you're cooking something!"

"Well, you could say- anyway, you just clean up or whatever."

"I will if you pass me the scotch."

"Deal!"

Mentally prepared, Germany greeted England and charged his way to the table to present the cake to an excited Alfred, "Alright! Chocolate! I had a feeling it would be something nasty but you're not too bad Germany! Unless that _isn't_ chocolate…"

"It's chocolate."

"Then have a seat!" Alfred took the cake into the kitchen and came out with the meal.

Thus the four sat down to the horrifying meal that Alfred had procured. What vexed Germany the most was that all of the food was still in the packages of various fast food establishments. He opened a box and found fried chicken and a mushy white substance that was probably mashed potatoes. Germany decided to save his appetite for dessert. Italy opened a pizza box and shrieked. England appeared to be more concerned about his booze and America took on the uncanny likeness of a garbage disposal in his pursuit of carnage.

Germany chanced at conversation. "Actually the reason we're here is because we've noticed the two of you were going through some difficulties…"

"Us and the entire world!" Added Alfred, much to Ludwig's chagrin.

"No, and believe us, these difficulties are purely of a domestic manner."

England scowled at him from across the table. "Now listen you dam-**bleep**"

"Alfred what the **bleep** is that!"

"Oh this? It's an airhorn."

"Why the **bleep** do you have it, you **bleep**!"

"I figured you'd swear up a storm tonight, and I didn't really want our influential guests to have to go through with it."

"So you got a **bleep** airhorn?"

"Yep."

"You've always been such a **bleep**. Hey, that's wasn't even a **bleep**. Now you're just **bleep **ridiculous." England sighed and contented himself to silence and drinking, glaring at everyone who met his gaze.

"Oh, don't mind Iggy. He always gets a bit nostalgic when he's drunk."

Ludwig could not decide what annoyed him more, the airhorn or the constant swearing.

Thankfully, Alfred redirected his attention, grit shining around the corners of his mouth. "Now what were you saying?"

"Oh, yes. I understand you two have a long history together, but that is-" Germany became aware of something wet and warm dripping on his lap. "Excuse me." Upon further inspection he saw that the grease from the food was escaping from a hole in the table and leaking onto his pants.

"Oh, sorry about that hole," Alfred said, rather unsympathetically, "I've been trying to patch that for weeks now but nothing's working. Oh, but really it's England's fault anyway."

"You little **bleep**." England, knowing that battle had been lost, now turned to his guests with a look colder than hell. "I can't believe it, a **bleep** and a **bleep** at my table."

Ludwig could not hear the words, but he knew how to read lips. And surprisingly, so could Alfred. "England! How many times do I have to tell you, it's called _Sauerkraut_ and _Whopper_. Say it with me now."

And England did say the words with America, enunciating on the most offensive parts. Germany, in the midst of so much hostility, thought he was going to be sick. However, it was only when he saw the cake that he truly excused himself.

"Yeah, I thought your cake was missing something so I made it colorful." Alfred held out the remains of what had once been a proud cake, inundated with colored sludge.

"A-actually, Italy and I have an appointment so we have to be leaving now."

"We do Germany? I didn't know-" Germany covered the Italian's mouth and was out of the door faster than England could say "There goes **bleep bleep **and **bleep bleep**, Alfred I'm going to **bleep** you so hard."

Sitting in his apartment, Germany reflected on the state of his pants, the failed attempt to quiet his neighbors and the creaking and moaning noises that were coming from upstairs.

Whenever Germany needed sound advice on something he turned to the one person he trusted and respected the most.

"Hey West!"

"Hello, Brother."

"It's so awesome you called me. I was just thinking about myself, too."

"Actually, can you put Austria on the phone?"

"Hey, I thought you called to talk to _me_. Why do want to put Mr. Prissypants on the phone?"

"Please Gilbert, it's important."

"Fine, fine. But one of these days you have to hang out with me. It's so boring over here. The bastard won't even let me listen to headbangers, he says they-"

"Now Gilbert!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going."

"Gilbert what do you want? I thought I told you never to come in here. No, don't touch that. Hey! I just spent hours putting that together. And I'll have you know your chickens made a mess in the hall. Why should I be the one to clean it up? What? For me? Who is it? Austria speaking."

"Hello, Austria. It's Germany."

"Ah, yes. No, go away and clean up that mess. Now what was it you wanted to talk about, hm?"

"It's just that I'm having a little trouble with the apartment I've been living in."

"Oh, that's right. You moved into a new apartment with Italy. Well, congratulations! But just remember never to leave black paint lying around, though I suppose he _is_ older now."

"No, it's not Italy. It's the neighbors on the floor above us."

"Whatever seems to be the problem? I thought you lived under America and England, right?"

"That's exactly the problem. I thought they only fought during the conferences. But they fight _all_ the time and when they aren't fighting- well let's just say that they're still really loud. I can't get any peace around here."

"That kind of sounds like my situation with your brother at the moment."

"I apologize for my brother, but I've lost sleep because of them and I just don't know what to do anymore. Just tonight we tried asking them politely to be quiet. We even had dinner with them but it was a complete disaster! I even lost a pair of pants in the process. Actually, never mind that last part. That's why I called you."

"Right. So let me get this straight. You moved into the floor below America and England you expectedit would be _peaceful_?

"I didn't think it would be _like_ this! Please, you've got to help me!"

"Calm down, calm down. Now, if it really bothers you that much why don't you try being as loud as they are? That shouldn't be so hard for someone like you."

"But how would that work? I mean Italy and I don't fight like they do."

"It's really simple actually. Whenever Gilbert is making a lot of noise in the house I just start playing Chopin. Sound cancels itself out you know."

"So I should play Chopin?"

"Or something to that extent. Now I have to go and yell at your brother."

"Alright. Thank you Austria."

"Just remember not to- Why is this vase broken! Right after I hang up on Germany I'm calling Elizaveta. Would you like that Gilbert?"

Germany heard laughter on the other end. Very malicious laughter.

"Oh that's it!"

The line went dead. Germany never asked what had caused Gilbert to suffer the Hungarian's wrath, but when Gilbert showed up to the next World Conference with burn scars, a bit of a limp and a look in his eyes that said "It was worth it," he didn't think he wanted to.

Instead Ludwig invested in a large stereo system and every piece of music that was louder than his neighbors upstairs.

Whenever the two of them were home he played the stereo, regardless if the two had started yelling or not. Germany didn't want to chance it.

At last the method seemed to work. Germany and Italy settled down into their newfound peace. All the music had caused them to get a bit more intimate with each other so that that night found the two of them on the couch in nothing but their boxers, listening to a great classical orchestral movement. Of course, it wasn't long until the two realized that the banging and crashing wasn't the sound of cymbals and drums, but instead that of thrashing bodies, glass and large objects from the apartment above.

Germany grimaced as he heard a plethora of things crashing and lost count of how many pieces of America and England's furniture had been broken for that week. He also heard a knocking and "Please God save me!" which he deduced was his own inner voice yelling at the top of its lungs. What he found especially disconcerting was that his inner voice sounded a lot like America.

"Oh, please, open the door!" As it turned out it wasn't his inner voice.

Italy opened the door to acquiesce a disheveled Alfred, complete with a bleeding upper lip and glasses askew.

Ludwig stood there in awe as America helped himself to the contents of their refrigerator "Oh cool, pizza" and took a seat at their table. In between mouthfuls he said, "Thank you guys a lot, munch, munch, I really thought he was going to murder me, munch, munch, ow, this tomato sauce stings so good on this cut, munch, munch, hey can I ask you guys a favor?"

There was a long, drawn out silence as the three of them listened to the crashing upstairs. At last Germany spoke. "You're already in _our_ house, eating _our_ food. Just what kind of favor are you asking for?"

"So, is that a yes?"

Apparently America wasn't too keen on the sarcasm of others.

"Ve, Ludwig, you really want to help America?" And neither was Italy.

"Sweet! Well if either one of you two don't mind, could you get my laptop from upstairs? I'm afraid England's going to break it."

"You come into my house in the middle of the night, invite yourself to the food and you want us to go up there?"

"Well, yeah."

"Ve, I'll do it Ludwig."

"Italy don't-"

"Oh, thanks so much! You're a lifesaver Italy!"

Before Germany could protest any further Italy was out the door with Alfred calling after him, "And don't forget my cellphone!"

Germany stood there in the kitchen, staring at the American eating him out of house and home and listened to the turbulence above with a feeling of dread overcoming him. Surely, England wouldn't hurt Italy. His anger was directed at America, wasn't it? What if England didn't even look to see who was coming through the door and instead threw a coffee table in that general direction? It was a wide known fact that Germany had developed a side effect from being around Italy for a long period of time, namely, he always worried about the Italian's safety to an unhealthy degree.

Without so much as a hesitation he dashed through the door and up the stairs to the apartment bracing himself for the worst. Faulty grenades and ejecting tanks were not so hazardous for Italians as the British were.

He rushed to the door, opened it and yelled "Italy, I-"

In retrospect, Germany could not quite recall what he was going to say to Italy at that fateful moment. He went through all the possibilities ranging from the probable "Italy, I think you should stop" to the unlikely "Italy, I think it's so brave of you to stand up to England" to the absurd "Italy, I just realized I've loved you since the 900's."

What Germany didn't realize, however, was that he had passed Italy on the stairway coming up, as Italians were so dreadfully bad at advancing towards danger. He also didn't realize that England, his vision blurred by fury, wouldn't have thrown anything if a brunette blur had opened the door. He might have just calmed down and complained about Alfred to the unsuspecting Italy. However, if a blond blur had happened to open the door England most certainly would not have hesitated to hurl the nearest thing at what he believed to be Alfred. So it was all very unfortunate for Germany that he had not seen the cowering Italy on the stairway, that his hair was as blond as straw, or more pertinently, as blond as Alfred's and that the nearest thing to England just happened to be a coffee table.

So it was that Germany found himself lying on the floor in the hallway, pieces of what was once a coffee table all around him and a very big bruise on his forehead. Not to mention that the sound had attracted the residents of all the other floors so that they were all crowding around him, jaw-dropped, speechless and blushing from head to foot. Even Italy and America had come up to survey the damage.

"Ve, are you alright Ludwig?" The Italian gently picked the splinters out of his hair.

"How long have I been like this?"

"Maybe five minutes." That would explain why all the residents, who just so happened to be other nations and non-nations, were there and that he had no memory from the time he had opened the door to a homicidal England.

"My head hurts a lot."

"Well there is a bit of a table leg sticking out of it," Italy said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hmm," Germany considered this, his blood pressure dropping very rapidly, "that would explain why everyone looks so red."

"We should call an ambulance." A voice said and he realized it was England, looking very sorry and shamefaced.

It was not until he was on the stretcher on the way to the ambulance that America ran up to give his two cents. "Thanks pal, I owe you one," said the American enthusiastically, having just missed a trip to the emergency room. "Nice underpants by the way." Only when Germany was lying in the hospital bed the next day did he realize to his horror what America was talking about. He had conducted the whole incident in his boxers, which could only mean that not just America and England, but a whole slew of the apartment complex had seen him in heart print underwear and nothing else.

But besides that obvious embarrassment hospital life turned out to be quite pleasant. Italy visited him, sneaking in all kinds of delicacies and thus saving him from the tasteless hospital foods. The table leg hadn't fractured his skull and he just needed a few stitches and lot of R and R and a bit of a hair cut. But the thing Germany found the most wonderful about his hospital stay was that it was devoid of any Engands or Americas. That is, except when they came over to apologize. He could hear their bickering outside the door and regretted profusely not being angry enough to yell at them.

The two busted in and England was the first to talk.

"Listen, Germany, I'm sorry I threw that coffee table at you. It was very uncouth of me and ah-"

"Oh cool, Germany, you got a bald spot now. But anyway, what Iggy's trying to say is sorry for almost killing you. But hey, look what I brought." And America showed him the laptop that had caused Ludwig all of his headaches.

"Alfred, that's hardly going to cheer him up."

"I wonder if this hospital has wi-fi."

"You **bleep**… you still have that thing?"

"No, it's coming from Germany's heart monitor."

"Bloody **bleep**."

An idea struck him and Ludwig asked, rather calmly, "May I see your laptop, America?"

Unfortunately the two had once again started to bicker.

"Bloody is a bloody swear word, **bleep**."

"You know Arthur, I'm having a hard time accepting that. I mean, what if something is literally bloody."

"It's besides the point, you **bleep**. Besides, I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to that **bleep**ing heart monitor."

Ludwig tried again, "Ah, excuse me America."

"Just why is it **bleep**ing out my words for? It obviously has no qualms about _your_ **bleep**ing language, bloody **bleep**."

"Hmm… Iggy, I wonder… asshole! Look, it didn't do anything!"

Germany tried yet again, his patience thinning, "America, listen to me."

"I'm having a pretty **bleep**ing hard time accepting that. This **bleep**ing machine must be brok-"

"Jerkass! Oh my god. Again?"

"You **bleep**."

"Hmm… I wonder if I can say-"

By this time Germany was clearly pissed. **"AMERICA, HAND ME THE FUCKING LAPTOP!**"

The two turned to Germany, for once speechless. The heart monitor continued its bleeping unperturbed and America did relinquish his laptop after the initial shock subsided.

"Thank you. Now could the two of you please wait outside?" America and England both stood as still as possible. "NOW!"

"Bloody **bleep**." England said and they both left.

Germany sighed and used the laptop to search for a new place to live.

But every place he looked at didn't seem quite good enough for him. The apartment under England and America really was the best place to live for a couple of nations, besides the fact that it was under England and America. So he called the people he trusted the most to make England and America's lives an utter hell and asked if they wanted a trade.

On the one time that Germany did visit his brother and Austria in his former apartment he took pleasure in listening to the thundering Chopin countering the stream of insults upstairs. He then sat himself down to coffee and heard the beginnings of a rather savage mating ritual to which his brother shouted "You better be taping that for me Alfred!" and then relaxed into an evening of Austria and Prussia and England and America yelling at each other and somehow creating a four-way conversation through the floor boards. He sat in the middle of the shouting and could not remember a time when he had been so calm in the middle of crossfire.

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A/N: Well, nothing much to say except I really like reviews and I was too embarrassed to put offensive words in there… some of the time. Also, I hope you found this funny or at the very least decently enjoyable.


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